Get Well Soon
by Empathist
Summary: A short story with Brendan Brady, set during Ste's time with Noah - Noah isn't in the story though.  Previously published on 4 October 2011 on Live Journal. Written for Ayla.


He was on his way to work, running a bit late because Lucas had been grizzly and hadn't wanted him to go. So he wasn't going to stop and look at what all the commotion was about; only, it was right in the middle of the village, so he couldn't help glancing over.

There was an ambulance, and a car with its front wrapped around a lamppost, and another car: Brendan's.

Ste felt his heart stop, and found himself walking across the road and pushing through the small crowd of onlookers. Brendan wasn't his problem any more: he was with Noah now. But he had to check. Just in case he had to fetch Cheryl.

There he was, Brendan, standing by the ambulance, arguing with the medics. Ste's heart began to beat again.

Brendan felt as if he'd been hit on the back of the neck with a hammer. The accident hadn't been his fault: a car had swerved to avoid some idiot who'd walked out into the road, and Brendan had had to slam on his brakes so that he didn't crash into the side of it. Luckily, there were witnesses to corroborate. Luckily, too, DC Ethan had been passing and took the witnesses' details there and then, and Brendan had been glad to see him. First time for everything.

The driver of the other car was in the ambulance, and the paramedics were trying to persuade Brendan to get in too. He had whiplash, they reckoned, and he ought to get checked over.

Fuck that. A&E was for taking other people to: Macca, back in the day; Cheryl, when he'd mugged her for the club's takings, thinking she was someone else; and this boy, the one who was looking at him now, his face full of concern - he'd taken him to casualty once, too.

"I'll be fine. I'll just go home, sleep it off, okay?"

"Is there anyone in at home?" the medic asked; she recognised when to accept defeat.

There wouldn't be anyone in, because Cheryl and Lynsey were both at work.

"It's okay." Ste spoke without thinking. "I'm his... I work for him. I'll make sure he's okay."

Brendan was surprised, but if this got the ambulance crew off his back, then yeah, why not? He asked Ethan to park his car.

"There's not a scratch on it, Detective. Make sure it stays that way, yeah?"

Ethan scowled, but did what he was told.

"Come on then," Ste said to Brendan, and they walked slowly back to Brendan's flat. Ethan caught up with them and gave back the car keys.

The steps were the worst bit: the pain shot across Brendan's shoulders and down his spine as he climbed them. Ste put an arm around his back.

"I can manage, Stephen, just let me get on with it for chrissake."

They progressed in silence to the flat.

"I'd better ring Cheryl," Ste said when they got inside, "Tell her what's happened."

"Best if I do it. Soon as you say the word 'accident' she'll think I've had it, start picking the hymns for my funeral." He managed a sort-of smile: he knew Ste was only trying to help.

Brendan stood as he made the call; he wasn't sure he'd get up again if he sat down. Ste heard him tell Cheryl that she would have to stay at work to manage the place today, as Foxy was off on one of those business trips of his, but that he'd be fine because Stephen was going to stay with him for a bit.

"What d'you wanna do, Brendan?" Ste asked. "D'you wanna go to bed?"

Brendan raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Ste went red.

"Brendan! You know what I mean."

Brendan moved past him to his bedroom and began to take his jacket off, but the movement made him gasp with pain.

"Here, let me." Ste helped him off with his jacket, then pulled back the duvet, and Brendan gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. Ste knelt and untied his shoelaces, pulled off his shoes and socks, and lifted his legs onto the bed. Brendan unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.

"Give me a hand, there's a good lad."

Ste hesitated, but reminded himself that Brendan was hurt and in no position to make a move on him. He tugged Brendan's trousers off, and hurriedly covered him over, as if that would stop the thoughts that he knew they were both thinking.

"Anything I can get you?"

"Yeah. I need some drugs."

"What?" Ste couldn't believe Brendan would ask him this: he had kids, he wouldn't get mixed up in that stuff again.

"Fucksake, Stephen. Nurofen. In the kitchen drawer."

"Oh right, yeah, course." Ste was blushing again.

Brendan smiled to himself.

Ste came back with the tablets and a glass of water, and helped Brendan sit up to swallow a couple.

"Anything else?" Ste asked.

"What did you have in mind?" Either the painkillers were acting remarkably quickly, or Brendan was distracted from his injury by the growing sensation in his cock.

Ste stepped away from the bed, hoping a few feet's distance would break the spell: being in this room, it was messing with his head. He was with Noah now.

"I'm with Noah now," he said out loud.

"Yeah, so you keep saying, Stephen. But he ain't here, is he? Who's gonna know?" Brendan was doing his best seductive growl, which he knew from experience, got straight under this lad's skin.

"Anyway," Ste said firmly, "You can't do anything, you can't hardly move, so..."

"So you're gonna have to do all the work, for once. Think you can manage that?"

They were no longer talking about _whether_ they were going to do it, Ste noticed, but _how_. And before he was even aware he'd made a decision, he began to strip off; and with Brendan's eyes on him, he felt more aroused than he'd felt since - well, since the last time with Brendan.

Naked now, he pulled back the cover and pulled down Brendan's boxers; then he stopped.

"What... what d'you want me to do?"

"There's condoms in the drawer."

Ste got one out and handed it to him. Brendan rolled it on.

"Hop on." Brendan had rarely let anyone ride him. He liked to be in control, didn't like someone setting the pace and looking down at him. But, exceptional circumstances.

Ste straddled him, shuffled on his knees until he felt he was in the right position, and lowered himself onto Brendan's cock. They both found it oddly unsettling, but they moaned in unison as Ste wriggled himself all the way down and began to move.

Brendan's fingers dug into Ste's thighs harder and harder as the speed increased; then with one hand he took hold of Ste's cock and worked on it to bring them together. Ste leaned back and held onto his ankles, and threw his head back. His cries as he came made Brendan come too.

They lay together, not sleeping, not talking. Eventually, Brendan pushed Ste away.

"I wanna be up when the girls get in, or they'll treat me like an invalid."

Ste got out of bed and put his clothes back on, wondering what, if anything, this had meant. Then he helped Brendan with his boxers and T-shirt and a dressing gown. He put his hand on Brendan's arm as they walked back to the sitting room, but Brendan shrugged him off.

"Will you stop fussing? Jesus."

"You're a grumpy bastard, you," Ste said. "If you're like this when you're old, I'm putting you in a home."

Ste realised what he'd said: did he really see a future where they were somehow together?

Brendan wondered too, if that was an actual possibility in this boy's mind. It wasn't going to happen: how could it? People left. That was what always happened, unless you left them before they had the chance.

"I've told you before, Stephen: you talk too much." He sat down on the sofa. "Now you might as well get off to work and finish your shift."

"Okay." Ste fetched his jacket from the bedroom floor, then returned and gave Brendan a soft kiss on the cheek. "Get well soon."

Brendan leaned back and closed his eyes: he didn't want to see him leave.


End file.
